Billionaire Seeking Bride #2

I'm not talking about just-a-minute-too-late cold, but the it’s-been-sitting-there-untouched-for-a-half-hour cold. I choked on the black sludge and shuddered.
“You were looking into space for a good half hour,” Aimee informed me.
“That would have been nice to know before I tried to drink tar,” I scolded her.
She put down her paper and shrugged. “You’re the one wasting your money on something you’re not drinking. Besides, I was busy looking for a job for a certain unemployed apartment-mate who shall remain nameless.”
“Why nameless? I happen to like the name I have,” I quipped.
Aimee rolled her eyes. “I suppose that’s why you go by ‘Dee’?”
I shrugged. “It’s shorter than saying Miss Deidra Johnson,” I countered.
“That is a mouthful. What were your parents thinking?” my friend wondered.
I snorted. “Let’s not go there.” I nodded at the paper spread out in front of her. “Did you find anything interesting?”
A sly grin slipped onto my friend’s face. “Maybe.”
I frowned. “No.”
Her face drooped. “Ah, come on! I haven’t even told you what it is!”
“The answer is still know,” I insisted.
“But you could make a thousand dollars a night!”
My frown deepened. “Uh-huh, and what’s the catch?”
“The catch is that you have to supply your own costume and it’s a night job.”
“Aimee, spill it. What kind of job is it?” I demanded.
She sheepishly grinned and pointed at the ad in the paper I leaned over and read the upside down notice aloud. “Stripper wanted. Stripper? Seriously, Aimee?”
She shrugged. “You’re not that bad looking.”
I slid back in my seat and gestured down at myself. My frame was what was politely termed ‘husky’ which was a nice way of saying I had a few fat rolls on my stomach and my thighs were broader than some bridges. “You really think somebody would want me as a stripper?”
“Well, yeah. Maybe.”
“I’d break the pole,” I pointed out.
“What if they gave you a reinforced pole?” she teased.
I dropped my arms and rolled my eyes. “Thanks, that makes me feel a lot better.”
She frowned and leaned over the table. “I think what would make you feel a lot better is not taking your body so seriously. There’s plenty of guys out there who like big women,” she argued.
“Uh-huh, name one we know,” I countered.
She furrowed her brow. “There’s-um, there’s-uh, Fred?”
I shook my head. “Going out with a skinny red-head.”
“Charlie?”
“Thin brunette.”
“Mitch?”
“Blond model for that lingerie advertising company.”
Aimee threw up her arms. “Are all our guy friends taken?” she asked me.
“Pretty much,” I told her.
She raised the paper and browsed the Help Wanted pages. “Fine, no stripper, but there were a few other jobs in here that looked interesting.”
I looked down at myself and snorted. “I need more than a job, I need liposuction.”
Aimee looked at me over the top of her paper and raised an eyebrow at me. “I think what you’re problem is is that you’re too self-conscious about your body. You just need to let things go.”
I frowned. “I’m not that bad-”
“Remember the last job you had? The one at the coffee shop?”
“Yeah, so what?”
“They fired you because you scared an old man half to death,” she reminded me.
“He was looking at my butt,” I protested.
“He was looking at a bagel in the case, Dee,” my friend countered. She sighed and shook her head. “No, what you need is a good, old-fashioned simple job, and fast. I know the rent’s eating you out of your savings.”
“I can last a while,” I argued. She stared unblinkingly at me. I sighed and shrugged. “All right, so I can last only a little while, but I’m fine.”
“No, you’re unemployed, and we’re going to fix that tomorrow when we drop off your resume at this address,” she insisted. She set the paper on the table and jabbed her finger on one of the ads.
I leaned over and titled my head to get a good reading of the title. “Maid wanted. No experience necessary. Apply at address provided.” My eyes flickered up to my friend. “Seriously? A maid? Can you really imagine me in one of those outfits?”
“They don’t use those things anymore, and you said you weren’t happy with your body. What better way to lose the pounds than to work it off at your job?” she pointed out.
“I can think of a million other ways,” I argued.
“Name one.”
“Well, now that you’ve asked I can’t think of one, but I’ll think of them later,” I insisted.
“Uh-huh, and in the meantime we’ll just get your resume down there. It’s either that or you apply for another job at a coffee shop and hope they don’t learn about the bagel incident,” she commented.
I sighed and slumped forward over the table. “Being an adult sucks.”
“Hey, it’s not completely bad,” Aimee argued.
“Name one thing good about it,” I challenged her.
“Sex.”
I snorted and sat up. “Fine, I’ll give you that one. Now when do I need to turn in my resume for this job?”
“The due-date is tomorrow by five. I’ve got the morning off from my glamorous job of bagging groceries, so I’ll take you down there and try my luck at it,” she told me.
I raised an eyebrow. “You think trading in your life as a bagger for a maid is an improvement?”
She shrugged. “Maybe not with the work, but the pay can’t be any worse.” She tapped her finger on the ad. “The address is in one of the posh neighborhoods. You know, big old mansions owned by people with lots of money. They might pay pretty well.”
“Emphasis on the ‘might,’” I retorted.
“It’s worth a shot. Says here we have to give our resume to a Mr. John.” She wrinkled her nose. “Strange last name, but I’m not complaining.”
I sighed and ran a hand through my long brown hair. “All right, we’ll go, but I bet you all my savings they’ll take one look at me and stamp the word ‘Denied’ on my resume.”